


Breaking the Mould

by TiggyMalvern



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Hannibal Lecter, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Conflicted Consent, Hannibal is creepy and possessive and manipulative, M/M, Mpreg, Murder Husbands, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Sigma Will Graham, Sigmaverse, amazingly there's no explicit cannibalism in this one, so no change there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 09:33:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12105807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiggyMalvern/pseuds/TiggyMalvern
Summary: This fic is a retro-actively authorised remix of Watermelonsmellinfellon's fic, so I'm borrowing their summary, as well as their concept:In the world of Alphas, Betas and Omegas, there is another classification that is so rare, their numbers are only in the double digits. These types have the aura and scent of an Alpha, but are able to breed like an Omega. Sigmas are highly sought after. The problem is, unless they decide to tell someone, no one may ever know.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Watermelonsmellinfellon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watermelonsmellinfellon/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Σίγμα Δυο](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5527628) by [Watermelonsmellinfellon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watermelonsmellinfellon/pseuds/Watermelonsmellinfellon). 



> The notes for this are going to be almost as long as the fic, because it needs some ~~justification~~ explanation, as well as credit where it’s due. 
> 
> I’ve spent the last decade or more not reading A/B/O fics, because many years and many fandoms ago, there were a lot that were rape excuses, or a way for a lazy writer to make two characters have sex who normally would never touch each other. So I skipped them, all of them. 
> 
> A few months ago I was working my way through Hannibal fics on AO3, and I found Watermellonsmellinfellon’s sigma fic. I saw from the summary that they were putting a twist on the A/B/O trope, so I read it, and I was intrigued by their concept of Will Graham as a sigma. Someone who appears to be an Alpha but who also has heats, and becomes capable of reproduction if they choose an Alpha as a mate. Kind of like all those fish that switch gender depending on circumstances. And I found myself wondering what if in choosing Hannibal, Will wasn’t just opting to elope with a serial killer, but was also choosing his own sexual submission? How would that affect Will? And Hannibal? So I wrote it, because that was the only way I could get the thoughts out of my head and go back to finishing ‘Whatever is Realised’. I ended up with 18k words of mostly porn (really, I mean 90% porn, because my brain thinks these two should always work through their changing interpersonal dynamics while shagging). And it sat on my hard drive because it was just my musings on someone else’s idea that I hijacked without permission.
> 
> Last month, that meme went around on tumblr that says, ‘Reblog if you are a fic writer who welcomes moodboards, playlists, remixes, art and any other type of gift based on your stories.’ I cheerfully reblogged it, and then I thought well, maybe Watermellonsmellinfellon would want to know that their idea inspired me. So I contacted them and they said they’d like to read it, and then they said they liked it and I should publish it as a gift for them.
> 
> I’ve done some editing from that first draft, but I make no claims as to quality – I was writing miles outside my comfort zone with this, it was never intended for public airing, and it has more POV changes than I would normally tolerate. But at least one person enjoyed it, and maybe someone else will, so here it is.
> 
> I altered some of the details of Watermellonsmellinfellon’s sigma idea (partly because I forgot exactly how they wrote the biology, if I’m honest), and I’ve probably messed with some of the established A/B/O mechanics too, because I’ve read very few, and almost everything I know about the trope I’ve absorbed by osmosis.
> 
> And I’m still cringing internally because I actually wrote _mpreg_ , and how the hell did that happen? I’ve spent the last two decades saying never in a billion years. But hey, before these two shacked up in my brain, I would have said never in a billion years would I write cannibalism, and at this point it’s just the constant underlying assumption, so I guess now anything goes.

_Break the mould of who we once were_  
Make a choice, no more excuses  
And watch us grow 

_And I saw this coming from a thousand miles away_  
But it didn’t make it easier  
  
\-- Hearts  & Hands, ‘Choices’  
  
  
He waits until their lunch is over before he broaches the subject. He sets his cutlery to rest on his empty plate with a delicate chink, and stays seated instead of moving to clear.

He has Will’s full attention in only seconds, his remarkable love who sees every nuance of behaviour. 

“We need to leave,” Hannibal says. “We are both more than well enough to travel, and while the paper trail connecting me to this house is complex, we should hold no illusions it will remain undiscovered forever.” His focus is locked on Will, on every detail of his expression that might alter and reveal. “I plan to establish myself on another continent, where I am not so regrettably recognisable.”

Will grew used to holding his features composed while his cheek healed, and now his face remains still, no immediate reaction to the final, deliberate change of pronoun. He takes a measured sip of his water, places the glass back down on the coaster. “That sounds sensible.” 

His response grants no answer to the question they both know Hannibal is asking.

Will stares and draws in a slow breath. “When are you thinking of leaving?”

“Within the week,” Hannibal tells him. “There are several countries on the North African coast I have been considering, although other possibilities allow themselves if they might be preferred.”

“Okay,” Will says simply, and he stands to gather the serving dishes. 

Hannibal drops his eyes to the table, and mirrors Will’s actions with his own china. He has made his offer clear, along with the requisite time limit. At this stage of his emergence, the decision must be Will’s, made without influence. He is an imago no longer; Will is his own creature, fully formed.

Hannibal loads the plates into the dishwasher and closes the door, and when he straightens, Will is right there beside him, standing close.

Will leans in and kisses him, slow and lingering in a way that can’t possibly be mistaken for anything but sexual. Hannibal’s initial stilted surprise lasts barely a moment before his heart and mind flare with the astonishing, consuming joy of it, and he returns the contact, his lips parting to slide with Will’s. He maintains a level of control over his enthusiasm, the kiss soft but ardent, exploring– there’s a conversation to be had here, but he wants Will in no doubt that Hannibal shares this desire before he pulls away.

His hands have settled on Will’s body, his fingers twisted into the coarse fabric of his T-shirt, and he makes no move to let go. “There are many in the world who would take issue with us, Will.”

“For so many reasons.” Will gives him a quirked smile with raised eyebrows. “I didn’t think you were too concerned about confining yourself to society’s moral boxes.”

“My own views on the subject are irrelevant. There are enough people who will be inclined to make life difficult for us that we cannot simply kill them all.”

Will smiles at him honestly, but Hannibal sees the sadness that creeps beneath it. “If we’re staying together, we can’t keep avoiding what we want, and staying apart doesn’t work for either of us, does it?”

Hannibal pulls Will closer, his arms sliding tight around his waist. “It never has,” he concedes, and Will sighs into him and finds his lips again, the two of them sharing the uncomplicated enjoyment and affection of their connection. The minutes pass in the softness of each other, in the comfort of touch and kisses, and Hannibal swallows back the slow churn of wistful undertones, mourning the loss of things he would never have known to want before Will.

Will draws gently out of the kiss, but his hands linger on Hannibal’s shirt, and his eyes on Hannibal’s are committed. “We need to be public about this, for our own protection, and other people’s.” 

Hannibal brushes a hand across Will’s unmarked cheek to settle at his jaw. “That would be realistic.” It’s an obvious truth, from both perspectives. Their possessive natures won’t tolerate attempted seductions by outsiders, who have no idea their lives will be forfeit, and too many bodies rapidly become… inconvenient.

Will draws in a longer breath, cotton pulling taut across his chest, and he says, “My natural heat won’t happen for over a month. You’ll have to induce me if you’re going to bond with me before we leave.”

“You’re an Alpha, you --” Hannibal’s automatic response snaps off, because Will knows his own biology, and he tips his head slightly to one side, studying Will, inhaling, the flow of it cool over his still-damp, parted lips.

Will looks at him with amusement, and a charmingly crooked smile. “Sigma,” he says simply.

Hannibal has rarely suffered true shock in his life, but now the air is pushed from his lungs and his eyes are caught staring wide. He takes another breath, deep and deliberate, replacing the lost oxygen, and his fingers curl into movement, stroking soft along the skin of this amazing man in front of him. “I always knew you were extraordinary. I only failed to realise that you are truly unique.”

“Not unique,” Will says, and his lips quirk. “Only unusual.”

Hannibal drops his forehead to Will’s. “Unique,” he confirms. “You are the rarest of the rare in so many ways, a combination I could never have imagined existing.” This man who knows him utterly and loves him through blood and death, Will can have their children, the family Hannibal always knew they were meant to be; the family he tried to give Will in the only way he thought possible, and then destroyed in betrayal and rage. Their mental compatibility has always been without question, the issue of their Alpha status one of several bitter complications, and to learn now that Will is actually _designed_ to reshape himself to be perfect for Hannibal in every biological way… No language has furnished him with the words to encompass it.

The implications of this run deeper, inevitably. Will would be altered by a physical relationship, different in some ways from the man Hannibal loves now. Hannibal won’t love an adapted Will any less; on the contrary, his current single-minded passion will be spurred close to madness as their chemistries align. 

Will is an astonishingly beautiful gift that Hannibal has no intentions of returning, but it would be an appalling absence of manners at the very least not to ask. He wraps his hand behind Will’s neck, his fingertips settling on the lightly haired skin at his nape. “Are you sure? This will change things for you, Will. You can’t change it back.”

Will presses his hand to Hannibal’s shirt, resting where his heart thumps with new knowledge inside his ribs. “I already want you, Hannibal, in every way there is. There’s no changing that. The rest is just the physiology.”

The strength of Will’s love verges on impossible, and Hannibal’s own desire for this amazing man floods through his chest as a tsunami in response. Something else stirs within him alongside it, undertones that creep and spark and flare, possessive and demanding, and he studies Will with carefully guarded eyes. “Do you wish to begin this now?”

There’s only a short moment of hesitation in Will before he nods, and Hannibal knows how quickly that can be overwritten. “Now, yes. Why not?”

He holds out his hand to Will, letting his face soften and smile. “Come to bed with me, then.” And Will takes his hand, and follows. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Will stands in the centre of his bedroom, stranded in the bright afternoon sunlight, a little awkward now that they’re here, and unsure of his words. He’s suffered his heats as an imposition on his life since he reached his teens; it never occurred to him that he might want to induce one, though of course he knows how. It’s not difficult, or unpleasant, but it runs against a lifetime of careful self-discipline and decades of acquired distaste. 

“Do you know how to make this work?”

Hannibal smiles at him, soft and calmly reassuring. “I was a medical doctor, Will. To my knowledge, I have never met another sigma, but I have a thorough grounding in the biology.”

It makes sense, and Will knows he’ll find this easier if he doesn’t have to give instructions. Hannibal moves over to him, stroking fingers along his forearm, expression full of gentle concern. “Relax, Will, and let me give you what you enjoy. There doesn’t have to be anything more than that.”

Will wraps his arms around Hannibal and drops his head to his shoulder with a long sigh. Hannibal slowly returns the embrace, resting his cheek against Will’s hair. Will lifts his head to look up at him, offering a quick, amused smile. “You don’t have to be quite so careful, Hannibal. I’m not a spooked horse.” And he moves to kiss Hannibal again, because this he loves, unquestionably, and Hannibal responds immediately, warm and seeking with his lips and the first touch of tongues.

Will presses further into him, aligning the length of their bodies, inhaling the closeness of Hannibal, so familiar now in every way after living in needed proximity during their recovery. He knows the shape of him, how his skin feels under Will’s hands, the scent of his sweat with the first tinge of Alpha pheromones as he grows aroused. There’s nothing to resent in any of it, only the love of him as the kisses continue, lengthening and deepening. Their hands explore each other while their lips do, relearning the contours of one another in these new circumstances, and they’re both growing hard, obvious where they lean into one another.

Hannibal’s fingers slide beneath the hem of Will’s T-shirt to rub over the naked skin at his waist, and Will smiles into their kiss and pushes himself into his hands. Hannibal is wonderful to feel as he licks softly against Will’s tongue and peels away Will’s clothes to find more of him to caress, even better when Will unbuttons his shirt so they press together bare above their waists. Hannibal’s scent rises in his nostrils with the exposure and steadily increasing desire, his chest hair brushes rough against Will’s nipples in a way that stirs and entices, and when Hannibal’s hand moves between them to fold against his erection through the cloth, Will exhales in a rush and angles his hips forward for more.

It’s easy to go with the flow of this, Hannibal filling Will with love and pleasure in every touch, and Will’s entirely agreeable to stretching naked over his bed while Hannibal masturbates him slowly, kissing all down Will’s chest and ribs and belly as he strokes. Hannibal’s tongue and lips are warm and delicious, soft at first, then sucking deeper into his skin, and Will wants them everywhere on him, lust and goosebumps rising in their wake. There’s damp at the front of Hannibal’s pants now, and the room’s growing denser with pheromones, his own and Hannibal’s mingling in the air they’re breathing in a way that’s profoundly erotic each time he inhales. Will’s aware that some of what he’s feeling is heightened by the chemicals Hannibal’s producing – it’s what they’re designed to do – but he’s been aroused by Hannibal’s proximity for years, even when Hannibal’s all business and the pheromones aren’t there.

Will’s breathing speeds, and he licks his tongue over already wet lips. Hannibal’s hand on him is steady and firm, not as fast as Will would have taken himself by now, but that’s okay. It’s the unpredictability that makes someone else’s touch better than his own, each sensation rippling through his nerves sharp and electrifying, and Will’s hips rise to press into Hannibal’s grip, demanding more. Hannibal lifts himself more upright and obliges, stroking him longer and faster, and Will’s lips part into panting breaths, his desire rising, his muscles tensing, Hannibal’s eyes on his face watching for every response, and adjusting his motions accordingly. 

Hannibal slows and draws him out beneath his peak, just a little, not really teasing, only letting him anticipate with their gazes locked together, before he moves swift and sure to finish him. It builds all through Will, the lust, the love, the scent of this man strong with every gasped inhale, and his hips push up, his body arching as he comes over his own stomach, Hannibal’s hand slowing to work him through the pulses of his orgasm, gentle on him through the aftershocks.

The mix of emotions scattered over Hannibal’s features is almost impossible to define. Love, desire, pleasure, yes, but there’s more beneath them, something studied and curious and intrinsically Hannibal.  
  
Will loses his chance to define it, as Hannibal leans in, bringing his face to Will’s navel and applying his tongue to the thick white streaks of Will’s come. Will shivers and sighs softly at the wet warmth sweeping over him in long, thorough strokes, his heart racing with sensation and his hands moving to card through Hannibal’s hair.

Hannibal licks Will entirely clean, then draws himself upright, his hair hanging loose and mussed from Will’s fingers, lips shining damp and his eyes black with lust. He turns away to sit on the edge of the bed with his legs wide, looking over his shoulder at Will when he says it.

“Do you intend to suck me, Will?”

Will knows what he’s really asking, and he closes his eyes and takes a breath to gather himself before he answers. “Yes.”

Will’s orgasm while surrounded by a rising surge of Alpha pheromones has released hormones within him, beginning the shift of his physiology in case he might be preparing to mate. With that base susceptibility in place, this is the quickest and surest way for Hannibal to induce him. 

Will sinks to his knees between Hannibal’s parted legs, places one hand on the fabric pulled taut over a muscular thigh and looks up at the man he’s shaping his life around.

Hannibal’s shirt hangs from his shoulders, its edges swaying over his ribs, and he combs his fingers through Will’s curls, soft and soothing. “Should I open my clothes, Will, or do you wish to?”

“I will.” If he’s going to blow Hannibal, he can hardly be reluctant for the initial touching. And he _wants_ to touch Hannibal, he’s wanted to touch him for years; it’s his awareness of the full ramifications of this choice that spawns the lingering hesitation. When he swallows Hannibal’s come, his sperm and every other component of the fluid, Hannibal’s pheromones and proteins will be absorbed directly into Will’s bloodstream from within his own body, confirming his submission to an Alpha. That will trigger the second hormonal cascade, the one that will bring on his heat and make him ready for bonding.

It’s not Hannibal’s fault that things are little rushed now, that they can’t work towards this more slowly while Will adjusts, because Will didn’t tell him. They’re leaving in less than a week, it’s dangerous for them to be together without a bond, and Will’s not letting Hannibal walk away from him a third time. Not this week, not ever.

He slides his hand higher along Hannibal’s thigh, presses his palm to the solid length outlined by expensive fabric at his crotch. Hannibal inhales sharply, and his eyes blink slow, his lashes parting to fix back on Will.

He’s beautiful, all angles and shadows and patient, depthless love.

Hannibal has changed Will, and while it was happening, Will hated and resented it. He knows now that he had to adapt, to accept who he is, to become who he always innately was instead of a cracked pretence. He can change again for Hannibal, to be with him in every way, the only way their relationship can be fully realised, and this time he’s going to choose it.

His hands move to Hannibal’s belt, to buttons and zipper, unfastening, releasing, until his cock springs free, taut and flush with blood and damp with clear fluid at the head. The scent of him is heavy, and heady, and there’s a shiver through Will that’s unmistakably sexual, though he’s only just come.  
  
He grips around Hannibal’s shaft, holding him steady, and he dips his head to lick at the tip, gathering up the fluid there, drawing it into his mouth. It’s an odd combination of salty and slightly sweet, not what he expected, which was something closer to Hannibal’s intimate, musky scent, but it’s not unpleasant. 

“That’s it, Will, taste me, just a little, let your body come to know mine.” Hannibal’s hand moves with his head, still stroking soft through his hair as he speaks. He sounds _captivated_ by this one touch, and Will wants to build his delight for him, as Hannibal has so patiently and painstakingly created happiness around Will.

He dips in further, this time loosening his lips, letting them part as he slides forward over the head, taking the whole of the smooth glans into his mouth, and his tongue moves over the tip again. Hannibal sighs in pleasure and approval, bending to speak with warm breath close to Will’s ear. “You’ll know the flavour of me inside you, Will, and you’ll want more, you’ll love the scent of me spread over your skin.”

Hannibal’s saying… exactly the right things, Will realizes, and the knowledge is reassuring in its certainty. The sentiments are unmistakably Alpha, and Will can feel himself responding, reliving the thrill of Hannibal licking and kissing his way along so much of him just minutes before. He’s relaxing into his intended role and aroused by the idea of it, as much as he can be so soon after orgasm, but that’s because Hannibal is expressing his desires for Will with soft tones and gentle fingers. Too much aggressive dominance this early might activate Will’s own Alpha hormones and provoke him to assert himself, to push back. It’s a fine balance to find, and Hannibal’s handling it with precision, as Will knew he would, because Hannibal was always the only possible choice for him. Will closes his eyes, soaking in the low, accented tones of Hannibal’s enthralling voice, and he sucks with increasing enjoyment, Hannibal’s unfamiliar taste and weight within his mouth settling into his mind as something positive, something he wants.

Hannibal’s pheromones are rising with his building desire, the unmistakable scent of a deeply aroused Alpha heavy in Will’s nose with every breath. He inhales slow and deliberate, the scent both a needed part of the process and intrinsically soothing to his mind, because this isn’t just any Alpha, this is distinctively Hannibal that he’s breathing, Hannibal close and desired and loving. Hannibal’s taste is developing and strengthening on Will’s tongue with each new surge of his pre-come, his fingers have tightened perceptibly in Will’s hair as he draws nearer to release, but he’s still being _careful_ , letting Will set the pace and depth, embracing Will as someone precious.

Will loves him _so fucking much_ , and it’s easy to take him deeper, to suck on more of him; it’s enticing when he feels Hannibal’s cock twitch and swell in response to the curl of his tongue, more of that flavour released in immediate reaction. Will knows there’s a chemical feedback loop between them, his own desire for this fueled by the influence of a flood of Alpha pheromones, his increasing enthusiasm and attentions to Hannibal’s cock triggering the production of more of those pheromones to stimulate him still further, but it doesn’t _feel_ chemical. It feels _amazing_ , looking up at Hannibal while he licks around him, seeing Hannibal panting now through wetted lips, Hannibal watching Will with pupils blown black and an expression of stunned, total devotion shot through with an undeniably possessive lust.

Hannibal is devastating, and Will can’t imagine there’s a way to want anyone more than he wants this man. His fingers tighten on Hannibal’s thigh, and he hums contentment as he slides over Hannibal, his mouth stretched and his throat working to take him, and Hannibal tenses under his hands. “Will.” His voice is rough, wrecked, gritted out between heaving breaths. “Steady, Will, don’t… not too much.” He’s hovering on the edge of orgasm, and he’s looking at Will with such profound concern that Will’s love bleeds ever deeper.

Will takes a full lungful of air and pushes further along the shaft of Hannibal’s cock, seeking his presence, his taste, his blatant delight in _Will_ , and Hannibal’s whole body shivers against him. Will presses his tongue up around him, tightening his cheeks in suction and his pharynx around the head, until Hannibal’s muscles lock, and his breath exhales in a drawn-out groan. His cock spasms over Will’s tongue, and there’s a rush of fluid deep in his mouth, the flavour of his come different and distinctive, and Will finds himself licking immediately for more of it. And there _is_ more of it, in successive waves, each tremor from Hannibal feeding him just enough to lap it down without strain, and each working of Will’s throat to swallow what he has bringing the next lovely pulse of it. The cycle is obvious and perfect, and the disappointment when it ends, when Will’s searching tongue finds only the last faint traces of his lover diluted by his own saliva, is stark.

He raises his eyes to Hannibal again, Hannibal with darkened eyes, fixed on Will replete and utterly besotted, and the void is gone, filled by a rushing wave of satisfaction that settles into him languid and deep. His muscles soften into utter contentment and his lips relax, Hannibal slipping from his mouth now towards his resting state, and Will dips his head to lay his cheek against Hannibal’s thigh, breathing the sweat of him, and every second growing in awareness of what’s happened between them.

He intended to swallow, that was the point of this; he knows it intellectually, but that wasn’t _why_ he swallowed. He swallowed instinctively, because it was right and natural to do it, his subconscious making that crucial biological decision without any input from his logic. 

It’s... sobering to realise now that he couldn’t have stopped this if he’d wanted to. He does want this, that’s why he started it, but if he’d changed his mind, reconsidered all the long term implications, it wouldn’t have mattered. There was always a part of Will entirely ready to submit to Hannibal, even five years ago, and this was his innate reaction when pushed to truth by proximity, by sex; to welcome this leap towards being mated by Hannibal. Now that it’s begun, it will be near impossible to keep this from reaching completion. His heat will rise, his hormones will burn fiercer into need at every stage, and the chances of him resisting an Alpha so close and so known and so thoroughly eager to bond him really amount to nothing.

He considers this sudden revelation with the knowledge that he should resent it, but he doesn’t. It’s oddly calming, recognising the commitment already made, knowing that he’ll want and _demand_ every step of what’s coming.

Will’s pushed over the first domino, and all the rest will follow, fast and inevitable as gravity. He’s here on his knees, looking up at Hannibal, this man so magnetic and compelling, and destined now to be his in every possible way, and he’s sure there’s absolutely nothing to regret.


	2. Chapter 2

They dress and return downstairs after that first sexual contact, because it’s barely mid-afternoon yet, and they fall into something very close to their normal post-injury routine. 

Hannibal gathers his ingredients for the marinade, finely chopping garlic and ginger to suffuse in red wine vinegar. The habitual patterns of the kitchen settle his mind, his hands working the blade swiftly in rhythmic, even slices. He finds himself smiling as he prepares the food, and humming the melodies of the Handel arias that accompany his task, but he considers his behaviour remarkably controlled, under the circumstances.

He’s about to get everything he’s hoped for since Will came to visit him at the institute, everything he’s hoped for since before he discovered that Will lied about Freddie Lounds. And he will get a great deal more beyond that, things he would never have conceived of as possibility, visions from the realms of the most impractical of fantasies.

He sweeps the garlic into the bowl and sets the knife down, his fingers curling tight to the edges of the chopping board. He will have all of Will Graham, permanently, and not only his love for Hannibal, but his _need_.

Will works outside the house for much of the afternoon, something that involves hammers and a great deal of noise. Hannibal sees very little point to it, since they’re leaving in only five days, but Will in his own way has perfectionist tendencies similar to Hannibal’s – he cannot see a flaw and simply ignore it. Once perceived it must be fixed, and Hannibal is fully sympathetic with the mindset. Hannibal was certainly compelled to eliminate the flaws that once existed in Will, and while Will was not initially cooperative, he shaped beautifully when Hannibal applied a consistent current to define him.

He will shape himself further to Hannibal in the coming days, indelibly so.

Hannibal finds he doesn’t object to the loud and repetitive banging that echoes above the voice of the countertenor. Will might not be in his sight, but Hannibal has confirmation that his intended mate is still here, still close, and his newfound sense of fulfilment remains undisturbed.

And when Will returns to the kitchen to make coffee, to take a short break and shake off the cold, there are touches, light and frequent as they pass, and smiles that become kisses, because the love is unconcealed now and will make itself felt and known. Hannibal takes his beloved’s chilled fingers, and warms them with his hands, and with his breath as he brushes his lips over them.

They eat dinner that night in an atmosphere of pleasant contentment, entirely without tension. The flow of conversation and smiles is continuous, and when the food is gone, their hands connect upon the table as they finish the bottle of wine. 

Hannibal invites Will to share his bed when they retire, and it is no surprise to either of them, and nor is Will’s acceptance. They lie beneath the sheets in constant contact, touching and stroking and talking and kissing, and they grow hard, but Will doesn’t offer and Hannibal doesn’t push. He doesn’t need to push. He’s going to have everything of Will within a matter of days, and a little patience now will be well rewarded.

Eventually they sprawl together, legs entangled, and they sleep.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hannibal.”

Hannibal stirs at the sound of his name, blinking sleepy eyes, and it takes only one glance at Will to bring him fully awake.

Will’s kneeling on the bed, hovering over him, lit by the dim light of the moon through the window, and it’s enough to illuminate the tension in the way he holds himself. “It’s started,” Will says. “It’s not there yet, it’s still building, but it’s happening,” and it’s only what Hannibal already knows. There’s no scent to it, amazingly, Will still smells entirely Alpha, but there’s something glittering around the edges of his eyes, like the early stages of a fever. 

Hannibal sits upright in the bed and reaches out a hand to stroke along Will’s cheek. “We can speed the process, if you like,” he says, and Will shivers faintly and nods at him. “Yes.” There’s an eagerness to his consent that wasn’t there yesterday, and when Hannibal presses a hand to his shoulder, encouraging him to lay across the bed, he melts back with a soft sigh and expectation in his eyes.

Hannibal stretches over him, touching Will along the full length of their bodies, their faces inches apart and each breathing in the air the other breathes out. He’s already hardening, even without the usual smell of a subordinate in heat to arouse him, and so is Will.

He nuzzles beneath Will’s jaw, on the left, and Will instantly lifts and tilts his chin to let him. Hannibal licks slow and wet at his neck over the bonding site, and he thrills at the obedience, at his glorious, stunning Alpha Will giving him access to all his most vulnerable places.

Hannibal’s been fully versed in sigma biology for decades, the lifelong knife-edge balance between their Alpha aspects, which are only partly façade, and the submissive tendencies indicated by their heats. The choice of mate will tip that balance one way or the other, hormones shifting to change behaviour and responses and desires and even internal anatomy to fit the required role. 

It’s one thing to understand the physiology, and entirely another to see it happening in his beloved mate. 

Will responds to his touches more quickly tonight, his arousal burning brighter, his lust triggered rapidly by the indicators of Hannibal’s dominance, and by Will’s own submission. Hannibal licks again along his neck, spreading his pheromone-laden saliva thickly there, a suggestion of what he’ll do next time when Will is fully ready, and Will trembles and arches his neck in compliance.

Hannibal lifts away, meeting Will’s eyes, curling fingers along the damp skin of his throat and studying the heat and need he sees in him. He can take it further tonight; Will wants him to. “My beautiful Will,” he says gently, “soon you’ll be completely mine, and only mine,” and Will’s tongue flicks over his lower lip, leaving it damp and shining. Will can’t bring himself to say it or ask for it, not yet, that will come later, but his response is clear.

Theoretically, Will could have more than one mate and shift between roles as needed, though pregnancy halts that flexibility for a time. It won’t happen that way with Will. Whether or not Will would consider taking another mate, Hannibal will destroy anyone who tries to take his attention, even an omega.

Hannibal works Will’s body with lips and hands and words, firing his arousal and liberally spreading his pheromones over the whole of his skin. He loves Will, he loves every part of Will’s body, he loves the way Will shivers and responds at his touches. He’s careful to hold back a little, not tipping Will too close to orgasm; he doesn’t need to come this time to render him pliable enough to accept Hannibal, he’s already deliciously willing. They can share the experience more closely tonight.

Hannibal pauses in his ministrations, sitting back to ask, “Do you want me in your mouth now, Will?”

Will’s tongue flashes over his lips again. “Yes.” His voice is rough with desire, and he starts to push upright, to adopt their positions from yesterday, but Hannibal presses a hand to his chest and tells him, “Stay.”

Will’s eyes darken, and his breath heaves in his chest, and he stills and waits. 

“Perfect,” Hannibal says with a gentle smile. “My darling Will, you’re so lovely for me.”

Hannibal moves up the bed to kneel over Will’s face, his cock standing forwards. Hannibal grips the base with one hand, the thumb of the other brushing on Will’s lower lip and drawing it down, and Will’s teeth are already parted. Hannibal touches the tip of his cock to Will’s lip, the fluid gathered there smearing between them, and Will’s tongue immediately licks at their point of contact to taste him. 

Hannibal knows he could have penetrative sex with Will now – it’s early stage, but it’s enough to be good for both of them, and the added stimulus to Will’s physiological changes would be the same as the oral route. But it won’t be much longer now before Will becomes ready for bonding, and Hannibal prefers to wait. He plans to take his mate when he’s in the full throes of his heat, when Will is wholly desperate for him.

Hannibal edges forward slowly, the head of his cock spreading Will’s lips and sliding between them, and Will’s mouth and tongue immediately start to move around him. Hannibal stops there, only just inside, letting Will suck around the sensitive ridge where the head meets his shaft, enjoying the sensations almost as much as he enjoys the sight of Will uninhibitedly savouring his cock. 

Will is exquisite, and Hannibal puts a hand to his hair, stroking and combing through it with his fingers, repeated, gentle. “It’s different this time, isn’t it?” Hannibal asks, and Will’s eyes locked to his in serene pleasure are his answer. “You already know my taste, the feel of me pressing between your lips is familiar and you know the enjoyment it brings you,” he continues. “Listen to your body, Will, listen as it tells you what you need from me.”

Will’s muscles slacken further, sinking him bonelessly into the sheets. His cheeks and tongue work with enthusiasm, and Hannibal watches his throat jump as he swallows Hannibal’s pre-come mingled through his own saliva.

“Touch yourself, Will,” he tells him. “Touch yourself as I did yesterday, and think of me while you do.”

Will makes a soft sound that vibrates through Hannibal’s cock as he reaches for his own erection. His eyes drift closed and he sucks harder around Hannibal’s head. He is a vision of astounding beauty like this; Michelangelo would have found it impossible to capture the combination of rapt desire and contentment that radiates from his face.

“You’re going to take more of me now, Will, be ready,” Hannibal says. Will hums affirmation, his tongue softening and drawing back, leaving space for Hannibal to fill within his mouth, and Hannibal eagerly takes his gift, pushing deeper into the perfect wet heat of him.

Half his length is inside Will now, and Will shows only increasing desire and ardency. The position isn’t comfortable, the muscles through Hannibal’s thighs stressed by the half-crouch he’s holding, those in his abdomen aching as they tighten around the newly healed scar of the gunshot, but Will lying pliant this way and eagerly swallowing as much as Hannibal gives him is a long-established fantasy wrought into flushed, willing flesh. Will’s hand moves faster on his own shaft, his nostrils flaring wide as he inhales deeper, longer, and Hannibal allows it for a few moments, letting Will breathe in more of his pheromones to boost those he’s gathering from his pre-come. 

He sets his hand on Will’s arm, fingers curling into a tight grip around his bicep, and Will’s eyes open in question, his hand halting its movements. “Pace yourself, Will. I want you to come when I do. You know your own body, and I’ll talk to you as I build. Do what you need to keep yourself close to me.”

He releases his hold, and Will resumes stroking himself, but the rhythm of it is notably slower. “Good,” Hannibal tells him, smiling. His other hand is still in Will’s hair, carding pleasure and encouragement continuously over Will’s scalp. “There’s no rush here, Will. Let yourself enjoy having me inside you, let yourself breathe me and taste me and know the fulfilment you find from me.” 

Will’s eyes are still fixed on Hannibal’s, simultaneously soothed and seeking for more, his pupils swollen to enormous black pits that swallow the reflected moonlight. He looks almost drugged, and effectively he is, his brain awash with Hannibal’s pheromones and his own oxytocin and endorphins, his adaptive physiology upregulating his sensitivity to all three each time they do this. And while it’s true that there’s no rush to finish this, Hannibal is far from immune to the multiple sensory inputs, the physical delights of Will’s mouth and the profound mental stimulation of seeing his lover’s desire for this animal act. His arousal is building to the point where soon he will no longer have control of it. 

“Take yourself closer now, Will,” he tells him, “let it swell in you, and anticipate how it will feel to reach your completion while you suck on me.” Will’s hand picks up speed again and his breathing deepens, a soft sound exhaled with every breath through his nose, his tongue twisting powerfully around Hannibal’s head and shaft. “Yes, my beautiful Will,” Hannibal says, his own lips parted now to take in the air he needs, “give me more, give yourself more, just like that.” Will’s eyelids have fallen closed again, his lips wet and shining, his cheeks drawn hollow; the pressure around Hannibal’s cock is rising, and he has no desire to hold it back now, any of it.

He pushes another inch into Will’s mouth and tightens his grip in Will’s hair, his fingers curling right through to his scalp to hold him, and his voice when he speaks is transformed low and rough, no hint of his deliberate, pacifying calm. “Your place is with me, Will, forever, you know that, you’ve already accepted it. You’ll accept me within you again and again, and every time you do, you’ll want me more. Embrace your desire now, Will, drink me deep into your body and feel me there inside you.”

Will whines, soft and stunted, and Hannibal feels the vibration of it around his cock when he gives a single, short thrust into that glorious heat and comes. He resists the urge to let his eyes close when it hits, his gaze fixed on his stunning lover’s reaction. Will’s fingers grip and dig into Hannibal’s thigh, his throat and tongue working convulsively as he swallows and swallows while his other hand rubs frantically at his own erection. There’s another bright, nasal sound when Will shudders into his own orgasm, the white ribbons of come pulsing from his cock over his stomach, and all the while he’s still sucking and swallowing, still tonguing the last of Hannibal’s flavour from every corner of his mouth. 

Hannibal draws in air he’d somehow forgotten existed, and eases his cock from the abruptly excessive combination of heat and undulating pressure. He uncoils himself from his position over Will to stretch out on the bed alongside him, to lie torpid and appreciate the ache through the muscles of his thighs, the dull pain stretching below his ribs where the agony of the gunshot is long faded.

Will is unmoving but for his heaving chest, panting open-mouthed with saliva smeared damp across one cheek. He finally turns his head towards Hannibal and opens his eyes, and when he does he looks physically devastated, a tangle of damp, disheveled curls clinging to his flushed skin, eyes so wide he’s almost shocky, breath rasping heavy through his wet, parted lips. He is the most delectable vision of perfection Hannibal’s vast artistic knowledge can conjure, and he wants nothing more than to keep Will in this lust-ravaged state forever.

Will’s fingers are still on Hannibal, clutching at him with a devotion and desperation that’s palpable as he slowly raises his eyes to meet his own. “Oh, god, Hannibal.”

Hannibal presses full length against him, brushing his hair back with the sweep of his fingers, trailing kisses quick and soft over the scar on his forehead, down onto his cheek. “I know, my Will, my magnificent love, I know and I’m with you, all the way through to eternity, my Will.” And he does know; the intensity of this connection is… impactful for both of them. Hannibal knows the unmatchable beauty that is the two of them combined, and the near boundless frustration of what they don’t yet have, because he’s so _close_ , so unbearably close to having everything he can imagine wanting, to making Will Graham finally and irrevocably his. He’s been almost inhumanly patient, waiting through _years_ for Will’s seeds to sprout and grow and flower, and now waiting through these last few hours when it’s almost in his hands is tearing apart his calm and shredding his control. 

He clings to Will, because he won’t let him go now, won’t let him go until he has all of him, or ever, and Will clutches in turn, burying himself into Hannibal with his face pressed to his shoulder and tremors shivering intermittently through his body. Hannibal holds him as Will’s breathing steadies, as his sweat cools and dries, as Hannibal’s fluids are absorbed into Will’s body, binding Will to him further, every minute that passes bringing Will closer to full heat, to becoming immutably his.

Will relaxes, with time, settling more loosely against Hannibal into a conventional post-coital embrace, and eventually he draws away enough to lift his face from his shoulder and meet Hannibal’s gaze again.

Hannibal brushes a thumb along Will’s cheek to his hairline, tucking a loose, damp curl behind his ear. “You find the magnitude of your desire for me disturbing.”

Will’s face twists up, brief and self-mocking. “I knew intellectually what would be involved, but I wasn’t expecting it to build so fast. I thought I’d have more time for the… mental adjustments,” he says wryly.

Hannibal stays the slide of his thumb, cupping his fingers to the curve of Will’s face. “Are you regretting your choice, Will?”

Will gives a short, humourless laugh. “There wouldn’t be much point in that, would there? It’s too late for me to back out, and I very much doubt you’re going to.”

“I don’t believe at this time I am capable of removing myself from your presence, as I would need to,” Hannibal confirms after a few moments of deliberation. There’s clearly no possibility he could be in the vicinity of Will in heat without sex occurring. Hannibal prides himself on his self-control, but he’s a realistic man, and even if he were capable of approaching the level of discipline required, Will would be highly persistent and persuasive. The idea that he could walk away from Will and leave him to his heat alone, perhaps to be approached by some other Alpha laying hands on _his_ Will, is more remote still. He strokes gently along Will’s jaw, the stubble there catching against his fingertips. “Inevitability aside, I would very much like to have your answer.”

Will returns his caress with a warm palm laid over Hannibal’s hand, his eyes soften, and slowly he shakes his head. “No, I don’t regret it,” he says. “Whatever the… complexities of this, the only alternative is to live my life entirely separate from you. I tried that alternative and I found it unsatisfying.” He gives a small smile. “I could wish it felt more like a choice, though, and less like my brain is a passenger on a plane caught up in a hurricane.”

Hannibal tilts his head at Will, considering. “Do you believe that I am any less affected?”

Will huffs out air, something that isn’t quite a laugh. “I would say that’s immediately apparent.”

Hannibal pushes himself up to lie propped on one elbow, looking down into Will’s face, entirely serious. “For much of my life, I believed my level of self-discipline to be inviolate, Will. I considered it a trait that defined me. Emotions were messy, unwanted complications that only affected the many fools I share this earth with.” He runs his thumb once more along Will’s cheekbone, allowing his love to emerge fully unmasked. “Your arrival in my life was unanticipated, and provoked considerable internal re-evaluation.”

“You don’t seem to have any issues with it now,” Will says, resentment lurking subtle and deep in his tone.

“That’s because I accepted the endless and varied effects you have on me several years ago, Will.” Hannibal allows himself a brief, rueful smile. “Before I did so, you may have noticed that my frustrations on the subject sometimes manifested as violence.” 

Will looks up at him, slightly narrowed eyes considering. “And then you came to terms with it. Just like that.”

Hannibal curls his hand to Will’s jaw, angling his face up to press a kiss to his forehead. “If I was to lock myself into a cell for you, I first had to believe that the emotions you inspired in me were a valid and intrinsic part of myself.”

“So all I have to do is accept these changes as innate to myself, and I have to figure out how to do that within a matter of days,” Will says, desert dry. “Perhaps you can tell me how.”

Hannibal shakes his head. “No, Will, that’s not what you need to do, because you haven’t changed at all. You lived the façade of an Alpha out of necessity, but you were born a sigma. What you’re feeling right now is the core of who you are. The desires you’re experiencing have always been a part of your make up; they have only been kept hidden.” Technically, when phrased that way, it’s not incorrect. Will’s body is undergoing significant change, alterations made to his physiology and biochemistry to render him fully compatible with Hannibal, but it’s a change he was always destined to make from the first moment they met, perhaps even before. Hannibal has spent decades scorning the idea of fate, but the existence in his life of someone as perfect as Will Graham makes him inclined to reconsider. It will be easier for Will to assimilate his burgeoning submissive needs when viewed from that particular angle.

Hannibal curves his fingers more tightly to Will’s skin, to the bone beneath, holding him firm as he speaks into his eyes. “You need to release the truth of yourself from the cage of your own making, and you already know how to do that. It took you too long to embrace your urge to kill, to accept it as inherent to who you are, and you were unable to live freely until you did.” It certainly won’t take years this time, whether Will’s brain concedes the rationale of it or not. Will loves him and wants him, and that’s only increasing with each exposure to the physical delights they share. Will’s biology will fine tune itself until they are synchronized in every way, extraordinary and perfect, the pleasure between them impossible to resent.

He bends to brush another kiss upon his lover, this time gentle and light over his lips, before pulling back to lock their gazes again. “Don’t deny yourself the joys of your fundamental nature because of what you think you should be, Will. Not again.”

Will sighs and twines a leg between Hannibal’s, giving him a slight smile. “Trying to resist my feelings for you never led to any outcomes that I liked,” he says softly. And he presses in to meet Hannibal in another deeper kiss, one that Hannibal is only too happy to give him, and will keep giving him for eternity.


	3. Chapter 3

When Will wakes the next morning, it’s already late, and he’s on fire. 

He’s had heats before, many of them, each one suffered in quiet isolation to preserve his Alpha illusion. Apparently a heat in the presence of his chosen Alpha, a heat brought on by his Alpha and for his Alpha, is a significantly different experience. 

It’s devastatingly intense, an immediate and crushing want that sears his mind of all other thought except his desire, that fills his limbs with an urgent call to _move_ , to grab and cling and embrace. Yet no part of it resembles anything close to pain; there’s only the shocking purity of anticipation, because he knows with absolute certainty that Hannibal will give him everything he’s burning and yearning for, will take him and satisfy every need he might have. 

He rolls over in the bed, automatically seeking the man who is both his source and his solution. Hannibal’s unquestionably awake and utterly still, and he’s watching Will with the stare of a lion. Will starts to reach for him, but Hannibal moves fast and strong, grabbing Will’s wrists and rolling to him, their bodies pressed together and his weight stretching over him. 

His face is inches from Will’s, his voice rough and utterly sure. “You have to understand this, Will. Once we’re bonded, you’re mine, always. Whatever your biology might say, you will have no other mates. I’ll kill anyone who comes near you, and I’ll kill _you_ if you ever try to leave.” 

Will glares up at him, this delay and his need combining into frantic frustration. “I fucking know all that, Hannibal, I know _you._ I started this, I _asked_ for this, so get on and do it!” 

He opens his legs, and plants his feet to the bed, pushing his knees wide and his thighs high. 

There won’t be any foreplay this time, none of Hannibal’s slow, detailed worship of his body. This is about establishing their place in the world, and in each other. Hannibal’s cock is already fully hard, a distinctive length pressed between their stomachs, and Hannibal smiles down at him with slightly too many teeth. “It will be my greatest pleasure, my love.” 

Hannibal pushes up and away from him, and Will seizes his arm to keep him, his breath already heavy and laboured, the flood of Hannibal’s pheromones rushing to his brain and his cock both. He’s felt lust before, and desire, attraction and want, but what drives him now can only be described as _need_ , animal and frenzied, and he lunges after him to press his chest to Hannibal’s, to suck with lips and tongue at the sweat rising along Hannibal’s collarbone, tasting him, breathing him. 

“Steady, Will,” Hannibal says, but his tone reveals his pleasure at Will’s reaction. He pushes Will back down to the sheets and reaches a hand between his legs, back behind his balls to sink two fingers inside him. There’s no hint of resistance, and barely any friction, Will thoroughly slick with his heat and his lust, and Will arches and inhales noisily as he seeks upwards for more, for more that won’t ever be enough. 

Hannibal withdraws his hand, and Will hears himself protest at the emptiness, a high, exhaled moan that astonishes him, a sound he never thought he could be provoked to make. He’s writhing against Hannibal’s hand on his chest, wet with sweat and fevered with hormones, watching Hannibal raise those fingers to his mouth and suck on them, slow and deliberate and noisy, and that’s… Will barely knows what that is. 

He _knows_ though, because Hannibal can’t scent him, because Will’s stretched out here frantic at the peak of his heat and he still smells like an Alpha. Hannibal’s tasting his slick to recognize him, to know him, and Will shudders deeper into lust at the mental shock of it, because it’s not standard, it’s not typical mating behaviour, it’s purely, individually Hannibal to revel in consuming everything of Will in every way, and Will loves him and longs for him and curls his hips higher. 

Hannibal’s eyes are fixed on Will as he takes his fingers from his mouth, and he grabs his own cock with his glistening wet hand, positioning himself to nudge at Will’s entrance. And then there’s pressure and stretch and give, and Will doesn’t have the ability to breathe air any more, until Hannibal breaches him with a rush, the length of his shaft sliding in and in and in, and Will’s lungs empty in a rushing sigh. Hannibal’s there, all of him, finally pressed against Will to every possible extent, inside and out, and Will feels himself start to calm, the edges soothed from his immediate desperation. 

He still wants more, inevitably he wants more, but Hannibal’s thick, physical presence in his body is a promise that it’s coming, that he can have what he needs, and he’s able to take a moment now, to linger in their connection. He breathes the scent of his mate deep and deliberate, turns his head and reaches his tongue to lick at Hannibal’s wrist, tasting the sweat that’s formed on his skin there. The pheromones from both flood through his system, triggering simultaneously another leaping rush of his own arousal and a deep, languorous relaxation through his muscles that melts him into the bedsheets. The dichotomy should be jarring, intense sexual need incompatible with this delightful lethargy, but somehow it’s… appropriate. He closes his eyes and inhales again, softening into another wave of blissful passivity. 

“You’re so lovely like this, so perfect with me inside you, completing you.” Hannibal’s breath is warm on Will’s skin, his mouth hovering over Will’s. “Your body already knows me and trusts me, relaxing with my presence, my guidance. It’s beautiful to see you responding to me, Will.” Will _feels_ it, rhapsodic and perfect and complete as Hannibal says it, though he’s also tinglingly aware of more to come, that this isn’t the true totality of him, not yet. His eyelids raise to watch, to find the love and desire raw in Hannibal’s face as he starts to move. Hannibal withdraws slow at each stroke only to thrust back in with speed and power, and Will gives a quick inhale with each press of Hannibal deep into his body, a faint quiver through every muscle. It’s a sensation he never thought to long for, and yet every movement within, every stretch and yield of his body now is wholly welcome and _necessary_. He curls and lifts into Hannibal, breathing harder and seeking more of him, always more of him, his throat extending as his head falls back. His cock bobs between them, eager as his hips push up, and Hannibal leans in to nuzzle at his neck, kissing and licking and sucking thoroughly at his bond site. Will gives a short moan as the air rushes from him, his temperature flaring hotter, his curls sticking to his skin, soaked with sweat, and Hannibal pauses in his rhythm, supported on one arm. His hand cups Will’s face, their bodies pressed close, Will’s erection trapped in the slick heat between their skins, Hannibal’s cock submerged in Will’s body to its fullest extent. 

“Tell me what you need, Will,” he says, and his eyes are both endlessly gentle and utterly unyielding. 

“You,” Will says instantly. “Always,” because that’s their reality. 

“You have me,” Hannibal reassures him, with another long, wet swipe of his tongue over Will’s bond site, before he pulls back to find his eyes. “Tell me the rest.” 

Will breathes in his pheromones, shivering at his touch and the tickle of his breath over his skin as he speaks, the brush of his hair at his jaw. “I need to be yours,” he says, and instantly that’s _right_ , the flush of his heat fever spreading deep into his limbs, his cock leaping and oozing pre-come. 

“I’ll give you anything you ask for, Will,” Hannibal promises with utter sincerity. “So ask me for everything you feel.” 

Will stares up at him, this incredible, arresting man he’ll spend his life with, the man he’s loved for years with an unending supply of forgiveness, and it really is that simple – there’s only the truth now, obvious between them. He chose Hannibal so long ago with both his body and his mind, but he resisted the lure of both, bringing vicious damage to his own life and others around him while he fought it, painful and futile. He knows what he needs from Hannibal, it’s fierce and hot within him physically and mentally, and this time he’ll take it and embrace it. 

He arches his throat higher, blatant and begging. “I need it… the bonding,” he says, and there’s a flood of _euphoria_ through his head and another throbbing surge in his cock with this final commitment. “Do it, mark me, I need everyone who looks to see us.” 

Hannibal changes as Will speaks, his eyes flashing bright with the unveiled predator, his lips spreading to expose his teeth in a wide grin of greed. “Oh, yes, my dear Will,” he says impassioned and insatiable, and he withdraws his cock slowly, until only the very tip remains inside. And then he thrusts back in, the full length of his shaft, and he presses close to bite, firm, sinking his teeth deep through the skin of Will’s neck to forge the bond. 

There’s pain, inevitably, sharp at the initial force of penetration, but it’s meaningless, swamped by the immediate rush of hormones and endorphins and _Hannibal_ , and Will gives a cry that’s nothing to do with the hurt as his orgasm crashes through him. His muscles clench with it, tightening and pulsing around Hannibal’s cock, and Hannibal shivers full length against him with the onset of his own. The bulge of the knot forms rapid and prominent and stretching within to hold Will, and Hannibal’s teeth are still gripping Will’s flesh when he comes, locked fully inside his body. 

The two of them are pressed together when it ends, when Will gathers his conscious mind back into some semblance of coherent thought. Hannibal’s cock is wide and fixed and filling inside him, and his weight is solid and heavy, his chest pinning Will to the sheets in a layer of sweat and pheromones and beguilingly rough hair. Hannibal laps and sucks intently at Will’s neck, cleaning away the blood, and spreading his saliva thoroughly through the bond site. The injection of his pheromones and carrier proteins directly into Will’s circulation is responsible for both the chemical aspect of the bond and the inflammation that creates the scarring, the mark. Will’s immune system will recognise the foreign Alpha material and learn it, adapting his responses so that the mere presence of Hannibal’s unique pheromones will lead to intense arousal in Will. Within weeks, Will’s physical desires will become aligned with Hannibal’s, if they weren’t already, eliminating any chance of sexual incompatibility between bondmates. 

Will’s most carnal romantic inclinations have always been for Hannibal; Molly thought he was incredibly sweet and caring, so loving to respect her bond with her dead husband and not insist on imposing his own. He wouldn’t have wanted to explain to her that he didn’t think he _could_ bond her, because he felt no drive to do it. 

Will’s sure his own proclivities and Hannibal’s are convergent, but he doesn’t find the idea of biochemical assistance unsettling. It only makes sense. Everything that reinforces their connection makes sense, and his arms and legs twine around Hannibal, resting on the heat of his skin as he breathes their mingled scents. 

Hannibal lifts his face away from Will’s neck now, his expression astonishingly open, showing a depthless love and adoration that Will can barely comprehend, and a brazen, victorious satisfaction that he absolutely can. “Here.” He lifts his chin, exposing his throat, and Will drives forward with bared teeth, biting down hard to complete the bond, making it mutual. Hannibal shivers with a soft gasp as Will breaks the skin, and wraps his arms around him, tugging their bodies close, holding Will against him while he licks contentedly down through the blood. It won’t have the same effects on Hannibal, his Alpha physiology missing many of the pathways and leaving him innately immune to influence, but he will scar and show the mark, and he will be publicly Will’s. 

They secure each other through the full duration of the knot, hands alternately clutching and stroking, lips exploring and tasting and murmuring love, need, devotion, want. There’s an immediate heady thrill through Will of ownership, of being owned, but it’s not a thrill that blazes bright and leaves ashes. It smoulders down to a glow of fulfilment and peace that settles deep through Will’s bones and binds into his substance. 

When the pressure inside Will eventually lessens and the knot releases, Hannibal’s softened cock quickly slips from his body, but Hannibal stays, leaning over Will, fingers lightly roaming his cheek and jaw. “I dreamed of this for years, Will, and I believed it to be biologically impossible, but it didn’t stop the dreams.” 

Will brushes a kiss over Hannibal’s collarbone, looks up with a quirk of his lips. “I always knew it was possible, and the knowledge that I might choose this with you terrified me.” 

Hannibal strokes his sweat-damp hair back from his face, smiling down at him gentle and loving. “You’re not scared now.” 

Will’s smile in return is real and soft. “What’s the point in being scared? There’s only you, always. There can only ever be us for each other.” It’s been true for a long time; what they’ve just done is only the declaration of it. 

He wraps an arm around Hannibal’s shoulder and pulls him down, more of his weight settling onto Will, and they kiss, slow and thorough and meaningful. Will’s fingers linger at Hannibal’s neck, tracing the edges of the fresh, raw mark, feeling the throb in the flesh of his own throat as their lips and tongues connect them in their love. 

Now when they travel, and wherever they end up living, everyone will know that they are committed, and only the foolhardy will intervene. 

It’s going to be interesting. When people see two mated Alphas, their first instinct is always to recoil. And then they’ll notice the bond marks and everything will change, because two Alphas can’t bond – the only explanation is that one of them must be a sigma. The question feverishly burning in all of their minds will be which one. 

But even that period of fascinated stares and fifty percent probabilities will be a short reprieve, because with Hannibal’s sperm flooding his reproductive tract and his Alpha’s pheromones circulating in his bloodstream, this act of bonding has secured Will’s physiology into the needed biological role. His womb will mature now, developing to completion in only a few months. Once he’s physically capable of pregnancy, his heat will trigger, with Will fully receptive in every sense, and then Hannibal will breed him. 

It won’t be a choice; their biology will demand it, the urge to mate frantic and repeated in both of them until a shift in Will’s pheromones signals that he is successfully impregnated. 

The reproductive drive is always strong in any new bonding, but it’s truly fierce with the involvement of a sigma. The bonding mark shows the world that they have chosen, that they are for each other. A visible pregnancy is an overt demonstration to any potential rivals that their bond is a _successful_ one, and that Will won’t be available in heat again for some time. With the number of rivals wanting to try for a claim on a newly identified sigma, it’s evolutionarily vital for an Alpha to breed their sigma as soon as it can be achieved, and get them with a least one child before being possibly ousted or killed. 

They could avoid that early reproductive demand if they want to. Contraceptives are of no use – the drive to mate continues endless and unimpeded until pregnancy is achieved, resulting in ill health and weakness if it is not. There were rare historical reports of a first heat ending in the death of one partner if they were infertile. The hormonal change of the establishing pregnancy will be needed to end Will’s heat, but there are medical treatments available to intervene in the process after that point is reached. 

They haven’t talked about it, but Will doesn’t imagine that either he or Hannibal will choose to stop the pregnancy. Will’s already lost Abigail, and the chance of a child with Margot. He’s going to carry one now himself, and as soon as his condition begins to show, everyone will know exactly what he is. A pregnant man who smells like an Alpha can be only one thing. 

Will’s many layers of secrecy will all be stripped away, unveiled first as a sigma, and shortly afterwards revealed as Hannibal’s true counterpart in every way. 

He kisses Hannibal deeply and fiercely, and finds himself smiling against his lips. After two and a half decades of hiding, he’s ready to be openly seen.


	4. Chapter 4

Tunisia is good to them.

Will loves everything about the sea, particularly a warm sea. He fishes and sails, and Hannibal finds it perfect for swimming, and the country has history and culture and art reaching back as far as any in Europe.

Hannibal insinuates himself into the loftier elements of Tunis society in less than a month, aided by the mystery of their status. Word quickly gets around that there’s a new rich couple in the city, one of whom must be a near-mythical sigma, and that nets them an invitation to a good party for curiosity value. Once there, Hannibal’s impeccable manners and charm and witty conversation ensure that more are forthcoming, while the established set study them both with politely veiled curiosity, wondering which of them is the ultimate prize, and which the ultimate winner.

Will’s spent his entire life inhabiting the role of an Alpha, and it’s easy for him to continue it now. He doesn’t actually care if people here know his true status – they’re going to know it soon enough anyway – but it amuses Hannibal to leave everyone to puzzle and guess about them. He’s entertained when he eavesdrops on their gossip and speculations, and later relates the exalted highlights to Will.

They’re living under assumed names, with Hannibal’s hair dyed closer to the colour of his eyes and wearing thick-framed glasses that obscure his cheekbones, but there’s no extradition treaty in place between Tunisia and any of the countries where Hannibal is officially a criminal or a suspect. Recognition here won’t lead to immediate catastrophe. They’ll have breathing space to react if anyone identifies them, but American news is very much second tier profile in Africa, and the people they’re mixing with aren’t the target readership for Tattle Crime.

They don’t kill. They don’t need to. They have plenty of time, and while they commit no crimes in this country, they have no fear of arrest. If an official does become tempted to enter into a one-off agreement with the US or another interested government, there’s enough scope in the system for bribes to be effective. 

They only need each other, and they have each other, an equation whose outcome is joy and pleasure and a soul-deep peace Will could never have imagined finding.

They don’t talk about the future. They’re too busy experiencing the novelty of now.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Will’s heat hits, there’s no warning. There’s no steady build of hormones and desire over twenty-four hours or more, recognisable and familiar. He stirs briefly in the night, restless and a little warm, and wonders vaguely if he might have caught an infection before he drifts back to sleep. And then in the morning he wakes and he can’t even _breathe_ without contact, without touch, without every surface of his skin pressed tight against another body. He twines himself around his still-sleeping lover who wakes instantly, Hannibal’s eyes somehow both black and ablaze simultaneously when they fix on Will, because for the first time in his life Will’s heat carries an obvious scent; he can smell his own blatant sexual invitation thick in the air, and it’s been seeping through Hannibal with each breath even while he slept.

Will grips Hannibal’s arm tight, and he’s certain he’s leaving bruises. “You have to fuck me, right now,” he says, and his words tremble with his compulsion.

“I will,” Hannibal confirms, his own voice low and rough and eager, and he maintains their clutching connection as he rolls them to establish Will beneath him. Will’s twisting to rub himself against him even as Hannibal’s weight settles over him, Will’s cock already swollen and flushed and leaking pre-come, because he _woke up_ hard and seeking. He presses his lips to Hannibal’s and licks into his mouth, needing to taste his mate, always needing, soaking up the rush of his pheromones as he breathes him and sucks on his tongue. Will didn’t even notice when his legs spread and his knees raised, but he feels his own wet stickiness between his cheeks, and Hannibal’s shoulders are pushing up beneath his calves now, and the urge through every part of him for more and faster is _maddening_.

“God, yes, now,” he grits out, his breath a harsh pant punctuating each word, and the scents and pheromones and hormones are clearly rampant through both of them, because Hannibal’s thick and hard and full and pushing into Will, and Will throws his head back into the pillow with the immeasurable joy of being wanted and taken.

There’s no finesse to it, Will clutching Hannibal’s arms at his biceps with bruising fingers, and curling his spine to feel every possible inch as Hannibal fucks him fast and pounding. He’s grunting with the effort at each thrust, the slap of flesh on flesh at the end of every stroke loud over their open-mouthed breathing. It doesn’t take long, they can’t last long like this, and Hannibal stops with a gasp as his cock swells further within Will, filling and stretching to seal them together when he comes, pulsing, shuddering inside Will and against him, his whole body wracked in the ending of it. Will’s almost there, the spreading bulge of the knot stimulating yet more nerves, the surge of pheromones from Hannibal’s orgasm making him shiver and writhe on his engorged cock, and he releases his clenched fingers from Hannibal’s skin long enough to take his own erection and give himself the few strokes he needs, coming in thick spurts and a short, gasping cry.

They’re both panting, heaving air in and out between them as they hang suspended in the aftermath, neither of them having spoken a word except for Will’s taut demands and Hannibal’s single curt confirmation. The oxytocin floods through Will’s brain, bringing pleasure and lazy contentment; the knot is spread wide inside his body, the pressure of it inherently calming and comforting as it holds Hannibal’s sperm within Will, where it’s needed.

He wonders if this is how all his heats will be now, as frantic and needy and insatiable as his bonding heat three months before. 

Probably not, he reflects – the first post-bonding heat is frequently the most intense, the base biological drive towards early reproduction. With later heats, it’s easier for a couple to choose whether or not to breed, even when one of them’s a sigma.

Will thinks he might miss it, this frenzied lust for his mate, the shattering rush of elation when Hannibal enters and owns him.

Hannibal draws another, deeper, more controlled breath, and shifts his shoulders to release Will’s legs, easing himself down to lie over him, settling comfortably into place to wait through the knotting. His hair sweeps soft along Will’s jaw as his lips brush over the bonding mark high on Will’s neck. “If I had known the day I met you what loving you would do to me, I might have killed you on the spot, right in front of Jack.”

Will laughs, restful and happy and genuinely amused. “If I’d known, I’m not sure what I would have done. If I would have killed you for everything you put me through or pushed you to the floor and ridden you there in the office, to get to where we are now without everything in between.”

“I think Jack would have preferred to witness the murder,” Hannibal comments after a moment’s pause, and Will can only laugh again, because it’s probably true. 

His hands reach up to caress Hannibal’s face, rough with morning stubble and raw with emotion. “I would prefer not to have wasted so many years trying to convince myself I couldn’t want this,” he says. They could have spent the last four years together, loving, sharing, being a family.

Hannibal presses a kiss soft to Will’s lips, then lifts his head to focus fully on his eyes. “We could not have had one without the other, Will. If you were not so truly yourself, if you had not resisted with all your strength and your anger, fiery and formidable, I would not have fallen in love with you as I did.”

Will considers that and acknowledges the two way truth of it – that he himself couldn’t have trusted and loved this way if Hannibal hadn’t proven his devotion with his act of self-sacrifice, his surrender. “Then it was all worth it,” he says, and he means it, even Abigail, because the idea that he might have lived out his entire life alone with his dogs, still trying to pretend it was enough, appalls him. 

“I wholeheartedly concur,” Hannibal says, and he lowers his head to Will’s chest and breathes there.

They lie together, gentle and loving and connected, and Will’s already starting to drift into a doze with the knot still inside him. He’s aware of the loss of sensation when it ends, and Hannibal rolling away to lie beside him, and Will nestles closer to hold and be held, then sinks deeper again, and Hannibal’s breathing slows and softens around him.

They return to consciousness after only a couple of hours, and it’s almost as if the sex didn’t happen.

Will’s cock is rigidly hard again, his mind and body of one singular focus again, his ass slick and loose and open when he wakes lying belly down. Each lungful of air he takes is thick with Hannibal’s pheromones, the power of them almost overwhelming, and he’s pressing his cock into the mattress before he can even start to think.

“Calm, Will, I have you, ready yourself for me,” Hannibal says from behind him, his hands light but firm on Will’s calves as he eases them apart. Will shivers and gasps at the beautiful accent and the beautiful intent of the words, roughened and demanding with lust, and he gathers his knees up beneath him, spreading them wide and straightening his thighs to lift his ass up towards Hannibal.

“I’m ready,” he says, because it’s true, it feels like it’s always been true and always will be, and Hannibal grabs his cheeks to part them and presses his cock between them, a single quick, sliding thrust that takes him all the way inside. Will throws his head back and arches his spine to feel it more, the only thing that means anything; the only thing that matters in the world in this moment is Hannibal claiming him, his thickness and length filling Will’s body physically and filling his mind with an indescribable relief and bliss.

His chest heaves in great, sawing breaths, the scent of his Alpha so dense and rich ratcheting his lust still higher, and Will curls his fingers into the sheet and braces on his forearms as Hannibal thrusts into him with no pause and no build, fierce and powerful from the start. Hannibal’s fingers grip tight and bruising at his hips, securing Will where he needs to be, held fast and close in the rapturous joy of being mated, and he pants and quivers with each rapid shove of Hannibal’s cock within him.

Will feels his orgasm building, deep in his gut and his balls and his cock, he feels Hannibal’s building in his head through the increasing tempo of his huffed breaths and the sex, and the tidal wave of his pheromones sweeping through Will, and he’s ready, oh so ready for it when Hannibal gives his final, shaky push into Will and starts to swell inside him. He untwists his fingers from the sheet, one arm all he needs for support now, and he jerks himself only twice before his spine arches and he cries out, his come squirting onto the sheets beneath him, feeling Hannibal bulge wide and pulsing within him, his body pressed close and shuddering along the length of Will’s ass and thighs.

Will pants, with his head hanging down to the sheets, and he wonders if he’ll ever grow used to the speed with which he can transform from a creature of desperate, frenzied ecstasy to this languid repletion, this bone-deep satisfaction and peace.

Hannibal’s fingers loosen at his hips, and stroke over the bruises Will knows are forming there. “I apologise, Will.”

Will lifts his head to smile back over his shoulder. “Don’t ever do that.” He enjoys feeling Hannibal’s strength and the intensity of his desire for him; he likes it when the ache of him remains in his body when Hannibal’s gone. “Lie with me.” He sinks down to the mattress slowly, giving Hannibal time to adjust and move with him, until he’s sprawled full length on the sheets (and also on his own streaks of rapidly cooling come, but he can’t bring himself to care about that) with his head pillowed on his folded arms, and Hannibal stretched between his thighs and along his spine. It’s a good position for the knotting, one leg splayed out straight, the other bent to the side to accommodate Hannibal; it’s comfortable, and close, with Hannibal’s skin warm and sweat-damp and mildly scratchy pressed to every inch of Will’s ass and back, Hannibal’s breath and lips warm on his shoulders as he kisses him and loves him and claims him more.

He misses this, when he’s not in heat, and Hannibal doesn’t remain expansive and filling inside him, when sex just ends and he’s abruptly gone.

This time the knot has its integral purpose, to hold them together while Hannibal’s sperm establish inside him, to ensure the chance of his pregnancy is maximised. 

Technically he might be pregnant already; it could have happened with their first mating of the morning, but it takes time for a fertilized egg to implant and release the hormones that end the heat. Until that success is confirmed, the drive to couple will continue, and Will has no objections to that. They’re both relishing the intensity of the sex.

He sinks further into the lethargy induced by his orgasm and the soothing stretch of the knot, each breath exhaled long and slow until it’s almost a hum, while Hannibal strokes his hands over Will’s ribs and murmurs love into his skin. They stay like that, quiet in their contentment, until Hannibal eventually softens and the bind releases. 

Will would really like to just drift off to sleep again, but he can’t spend the entire day in bed, and he’s hungry and he’s going to need to piss. When Hannibal’s weight moves away, he turns and sits upright, sweeping his hand through his thoroughly sweaty and tangled hair.

Okay, piss, shower, then breakfast.

Hannibal rises when Will does, padding softly after him to the bathroom door, and they take turns with the toilet. Will doesn’t object to the audience; it’s expected. They won’t be out of each other’s sight now until Hannibal’s final biological claim over Will is established, until his heat ends and Hannibal can be certain the resulting pregnancy is his. Hannibal _knows_ , of course – they’re the only ones here, and Will would kill anyone else who tried to fuck him – but the knowledge in his head won’t change the evolutionary need to keep guard over his receptive mate.

They’re both too drowsy for much conversation as they shower, and most of what they have to say is expressed in soft smiles and ongoing touches, washing each other as much as themselves. They don’t bother to dress, Will lounging naked against the cupboards in the kitchen while Hannibal prepares a very basic breakfast of ungarnished eggs and ham that would probably horrify him in any other circumstance. Hannibal does don an apron while he cooks, and Will admires the taut, muscled sleekness of his ass beneath the ties. They eat quickly and abandon the dishes, returning to their bed to nap and digest for a while before Will’s heat surges back through him again. 

They have tickets for the opera at the Théâtre Municipal tonight. The European musical repertoire is less commonly performed on the African continent, and Hannibal has been anticipating this for two months.

Will doesn’t even know what they were supposed to see, but he knows they won’t be going.

They fuck several more times through the day, and into the early hours. The pattern is very much the same each time. There’s no foreplay between them, no descent into slow, teasing, love-making. This is sex as a biological imperative, everything driving them to mate frequently and efficiently, reaching their orgasms fast and gasping, then resting before they wake and stir and meet with eyes and skin to begin again. It’s astounding and beautiful and exhausting every time, a rollercoaster of love and passion and fevered desire that swoops into gentle adoration when they come.

Will thinks of all the heats he’s endured since he met Hannibal, restless and sweating with want in his bed in Wolf Trap, running miles with the dogs to divert the thrumming, seeking energy, when instead he could have had _this_.

They leave the bed twice more to eat and deal with necessities, but the rest of the time they’re physically touching, whether joined in sex or pressed close in a tangle of arms and legs as they doze through the hours in between. They’re never fully asleep – it’s a state that’s close, but they retain an underlying awareness of each other, and if one of them shifts, the other moves instantly to keep contact.

They talk very little. They’ve already said everything. They know each other, they understand each other, and they find what they need in each other, in every sense.

Will wakes again that morning as the early light is seeping into the bedroom around the edges of the drapes. He feels amazingly peaceful. He stretches languorously over the sheets, working through the low, pleasant ache in his muscles and settling into a state of gloriously lazy contentment. His hand reaches blindly across the bed for Hannibal and – 

Oh. _Oh_.

He rolls onto his side, to look at Hannibal sleeping alongside him, watching the soft movements of his lips with each breath, the rise and fall of his chest. Watching his incredible lover, his mate, his bonded partner, now a father of their child.

Hannibal’s eyes open as Will looks, aware even in sleep of Will’s unabashed study, and their eyes meet in warmth and an astonishing love. The obsessive, driven lust of the last day is missing from Hannibal’s gaze, as Will knows it is from his own. “Hannibal…” Will begins, but he’s not sure what more to say.

“I know.” Hannibal smiles at him, soft and so very genuine, reaches a hand to stroke along his cheek and back through his hair. “My Will, my love, you are entirely perfect in every way.” His eyes flash with something harder, even as his fingers stay soft and loving on Will’s skin. “Soon the entire world will see how utterly unique you are, just as I do.”

Soon the world will see that Will Graham is a sigma. 

Civilisation long ago grew beyond fighting to the death over mates, the law and convention combining to ostracise such barbarism. But the legal system and society both make an exception when a sigma is involved, in the understanding that the mating drive they provoke can grow too powerful to be wholly suppressed.

“When everyone knows, things are going to get bloody,” Will points out.

“Yes,” Hannibal says, and there’s a hint of anticipation slinking behind the single word. He tips his head to study Will. “Do you object?”

Will’s smile this time has sharp edges. “No, I don’t.” He’s never been reluctant to kill in self-defence, or defence of others, and now he’s shed all his disquiet about how much he enjoys it. They will kill viciously and with enthusiasm, and as bonded Alpha and sigma, the law will give them free rein to do it.


	5. Chapter 5

Will stands in front of the mirror with a shirt in each hand, staring from one to the other. The bottom half was easy, basic black pants suiting any occasion, even if Hannibal had needed to add two extra button holes to them. The rest of his outfit requires actual thought.

It’s a good thing Hannibal doesn’t insist on dragging him to these things too often, but the symphony orchestra performance tonight is important to him, and Will can make the effort. He doesn’t care how he looks for himself, but he doesn’t want to disappoint his lover and overhear people muttering that Hannibal has bonded unsuitably.

He’s still standing there bare-chested and indecisive beside a bed covered in shirts and ties when Hannibal emerges from the bathroom. He’s damp from his shower, and gloriously, tantalisingly naked, and Will’s attention is drawn inevitably his way; Hannibal carries sufficient bulk of muscle to show his power, but not enough to ruin the lie of a suit, and Will finds his nudity aesthetically beautiful even as it triggers the first stirrings of his arousal.

Will drags his eyes back to the frustrating problem of his clothing before he gets more distracted. Hannibal won’t have any issues choosing what to wear – he’ll have the entire outfit planned in his head down to the matching socks, and he can be dressed and ready to leave in five minutes, while Will’s been debating here for more than ten already.

Hannibal moves to stand behind him, watching Will in the mirror, assessing. He reaches round to rest his hand on Will’s belly, and Will looks down to the subtle but already distinctive swell of his stomach pushing out into his palm.

He can no longer see the full length of the scar Hannibal left across him, hidden now by this new change Hannibal has created in his body. Hannibal marked Will as his own long before Will gave him permission to do it, and waited years for Will to accept that they were inevitable, and essential.

Will’s only left to wish that he’d recognized the truth sooner, instead of wasting those years in pain and frustration.

“You won’t be able to conceal this for much longer,” Hannibal says, his fingertips rubbing gently over the soft rounding of his abdomen. “A few weeks at most.”

Will tilts his head in curiosity. “Do we need to?”

Hannibal’s gaze is locked to Will’s in the mirror. “Not at all.” His tone is neutral, but his eyes glitter darkly with possessive zeal, and Will knows the long, teasing game of gossip and intrigue has grown stale for him. He wants the world to see them now, the Alpha who seduced and bonded and bred his prized mate, his rare and glorious sigma.

Will can gift him that tonight. “That’s easy, then.” He reaches for a simple pale grey button-down shirt, one Hannibal had chosen for the way it sits close to Will’s body, emphasising his slimmer build and straight waist. It hugs the curve of his stomach now in a way that’s entirely unmistakable, the lines in the cloth as it pulls taut drawing the eye inevitably downwards to look. 

Hannibal admires the result with a soft hum of pleasure at a sartorial outrage that would normally leave him aghast. “Perfect.” He brushes a light kiss to Will’s jaw, his eyes meeting Will’s in the glass from beneath the soft fall of his hair. “You must leave your jacket undone.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Will unbuttons the jacket as they walk through the high arched gateway, exposing his blatantly tight attire beneath. Hannibal’s hand rests low on his back in an open display of possession. The doorman gives them his pre-programmed smile, his mouth starts to open, and then he stops, forgetting to offer the customary greeting. The ripple of silence and stares sweeps ahead of them through the foyer, followed a second later by the buzz of chatter and nudges and not-quite-whispers.

Hannibal walks them to the centre of the lobby and halts there, standing straight-backed at his full height, his head lifted as his eyes move imperiously over the room. Will stands close at his side and links their fingers together, the picture of an attentive, loving mate.

There’s a second when the room is frozen in that muttering tableau, and then a couple Will vaguely knows step forward to shake their hands and greet them with perfect-teeth smiles. The dam breaks with that one advance, and suddenly everyone there wants to talk to them.

Will’s never liked being the focus of a crowd’s attention, uncomfortable even in his lecture hall, but they’ve had enough stares in the last five months that he’s grown a good deal more used to tolerating them. It’s also significantly less invasive when he’s not worrying about concealing himself from eyes that might see the darkest truths of him. He can flaunt himself now, for one night, for Hannibal, though he still prefers it if Hannibal does most of the interacting.

Will makes his initial greetings with each new set of people, and then leaves himself out of the chit-chat unless he’s directly addressed. All of this tedious socialising is Hannibal’s element, and most of their rotating crowd seem charmed by his conversation, engaging him thoroughly and only letting their gazes rest on Will.

The gazes aren’t always subtle, and Will doesn’t need his empathy to read them. There’s an immense amount of curiosity directed his way, and only a little less hunger. The confines of the building are developing an unusually high pheromone level by the time they take their seats for the performance, and it’s immediately apparent that while the patrons may be listening to the orchestra, many of them are watching Will and Hannibal.

It’s almost worse at the interval, by which time everybody there knows that the sigma of the attractive newcomer pair has been revealed. Will practically glues himself to Hannibal’s side, because becoming separated in this crowd and actually having to talk to any of them beyond that first hello would be his idea of a personal hell. 

People seem ready enough to write Will into the role of the pretty little submissive, who lets his Alpha do his talking. When he was playing the role of Alpha, he wasn’t much of a conversationalist, holding himself aloof from it all while Hannibal fronted for them, and their audience seem to find his silent shadowing of his mate now an unsurprising progression. After a while, Will finds a degree of entertainment in provoking their bullshit stereotypes. Definitely less boring than simply listening to the small talk swirling around him. He shrinks his shoulders down into a slight hunch, the way he did for so many years before he met Hannibal. He softens his eyes and his body language, looking up at Hannibal with frequent smiles and subtly lowered lashes. His hand lingers on the edge of Hannibal’s jacket, playing gently with the fabric, brushing lightly and lovingly over the body beneath it whenever Hannibal says his fake name. He pushes his hips forward to emphasise the way his stomach curves beneath his shirt, sometimes letting his fingers wander to cup around the swell of it.

His display does nothing to lessen the general aroma of arousal that surrounds them, and Hannibal sends him flickering glances caught somewhere between irritation and amusement. Will only smiles back at him, the image of contented innocence.

Hannibal only remarks on it once, when they return to their seats after the intermission, leaning close to speak right next to Will’s ear with warm breath. “Your behaviour is quite appalling this evening.”

Will quirks his lips and raises his eyebrows. “Really? Most of your acquaintances seem to think I’m more than usually appealing.” And then the performance starts again, and Will settles back, relaxing into his own head and Hannibal’s presence, enjoying seeing his lover so involved in the music, and doing his utmost to ignore the blatantly staring eyes and the rafts of unfamiliar pheromones.

Will’s grateful when Hannibal is happy to leave right after the applause dies, and they make their way towards the doors instead of staying to socialise. Hannibal says his goodbyes to the people who address him as they walk, politely declining several invitations to drinks and assuring a select few that they would love to have them for dinner some time because he knows it annoys Will, and they’re outside and heading back to the car ten minutes after the music ends.

When they arrive home, Will walks through to the bedroom to stand in front of the mirror again, and he runs his fingers over the shirt where it pulls close against the rounding of his belly.

It feels real now, in a way it didn’t before. People have been commenting on the fact of it all evening. He’s going to have their child, this blending of himself with Hannibal.

He remembers when the idea of bringing that combination into the world horrified him, one of the many reasons he used to convince himself that he couldn’t ever allow his desires to step over into reality. 

He wouldn’t change it now. He wants it, this physical piece of his remarkable bondmate growing within him, a family created exclusively by them and for them. Their minds blurred together years before; it’s fitting that their bodies are doing the same.

The child isn’t the only change coming to their lives, though, and the other will find them first. Society’s attitude to them has changed dramatically in a single evening. People were still perfectly polite and respectful to Hannibal, but their eyes had all roamed to Will. 

He stares into the mirror at his image again, curious, as Hannibal walks into the bedroom. His mate steps up behind him, standing close, an echo of their positions from earlier in the evening. 

Hannibal sets a hand on Will’s shoulder, holding him there with his own reflection staring back at him. “Do you see yourself now as they did? Does your empathy allow you to reshape into the captivating man of their imaginations?” He leans in close, speaking the next words right by Will’s ear. “Everyone in that building desired you tonight, Will.”

“Not everyone,” Will says, thinking specifically of a gold-encrusted nonagenarian whose sole concern for the evening seemed to be whether Will was eating healthily enough.

“Everyone who was neither too young nor too old to have a functioning sex drive,” Hannibal concedes with a smile. “Every Alpha wanting the sublimely compatible mate to bear their children, every omega wanting the Alpha who also carries pure empathy to father theirs.” He presses a light kiss in front of Will’s ear. “They all looked and saw perfection in you, Will.”

Will waits until Hannibal’s eyes return to his, holding his gaze in the glass. “And you? What do you see in me?”

Hannibal steps around in front of Will then, and settles his hand along Will’s cheek and jaw. “The reason for my entire existence,” he says, and the sincerity imbued in the words is almost impossible to accept.

Will throws him a coquettish look with fluttering lashes, dropping momentarily back into the evening’s adopted role. “Were you jealous?” he asks, teasing.

“They were jealous,” Hannibal corrects. “I know you will kill anyone else who tries to touch you. They know that I have you, that I can always have you, whenever I choose to.”

“Yes, you can,” Will confirms, and it’s both a simple statement of his biological reality and deeply, intensely arousing. “Do you want me now?” Will doesn’t need to ask. Hannibal’s scent is strengthening and rising around him, and the lust is stirring in his own belly and his cock; he can’t tell any more how much is his own intrinsic desire and how much his physiologically bonded response to Hannibal’s pheromones, but it doesn’t matter when this wanting is always mutual. 

Will doesn’t need to ask, but he likes to hear Hannibal say it.

Hannibal’s fingers press under Will’s chin, raising his face as he leans in to brush his lips soft against Will’s. “I do want you now. Very much.”

Will hums his appreciation as he presses forward to kiss Hannibal, sliding his hands beneath his jacket to ease it from his shoulders.

Their love-making has gentled with Will’s pregnancy, none of the fierce, bruising couplings that sometimes punctuated their early relationship, but it hasn’t stopped, or even lessened. It isn’t quite six months yet since their bonding, and frequent touches and the shared joy of their physical unions remain vital, their affirmation that these ties are concrete and certain, unshakeable now after the drawn-out years of mutual destruction and longing.

They undress each other slowly, and teasing, punctuating the disrobing with kisses that grow longer and wetter, fingers that drag lingering over skin as it’s revealed. They settle onto the bed on their sides, Will’s back shaped to Hannibal’s chest, and he arches his spine to push his ass against him. Hannibal’s erection nestles against his cheeks, firm and girthy, and Will sighs in anticipation of the pleasure.

He raises his top leg, angling it forwards, and Hannibal stretches him with his fingers and a generous coating of lubricant, needed to make sex easier when he’s not in heat. The fingers move to hold his cheek and Hannibal’s cock presses into him, just the head initially, the gratifying sensation of brief resistance before he feels himself open for him. Will exhales, a low sound that’s almost a hum as his lover’s shaft works into him with a series of thrusts, sliding deeper each time until Hannibal’s fully seated, his body tight against Will’s ass. Hannibal’s arm slides around Will’s waist, his palm resting on the soft curve of his stomach, and he dots kisses along the nape of Will’s neck.

It occurs to Will that this position will be a good one when his pregnancy is more advanced, and he pictures how he will look then, lying here blissful and complete in his penetration, with his belly swollen round and tight and full beneath Hannibal’s hand. He finds the image beautiful, and he smiles and presses back onto Hannibal’s cock as Hannibal starts to move inside him. 

He stretches his arm behind him, settling his hand high on Hannibal’s thigh, feeling the movements of his lover’s muscles and hips as he fucks him. Their position doesn’t allow for quite as much depth, and the motion’s definitely more limited, but it’s slow and delicious, relaxing and _loving_ , and Will’s eyes drift closed with the simple pleasure of it – the scent of his bondmate surrounding him, thick with arousal and how much he wants Will, his chest prickling lightly against his back as he moves, the exquisite, rhythmic stretch and slide of him within. There’s a different kind of joy to it, outside the frantic intensity of heat, the two of them choosing to be together like this rather than driven by biology, the desire rising out of their love. 

It’s never ceased to be amazing, the effect of simply having Hannibal inside him; the stimulation of his presence is not only physical, but also mental and emotional, vibrating deep and intense all through him. It’s resonant, and exquisite, integrating Will fully into every aspect of himself and his desires, and he can’t recall now why the idea of this ever unnerved him. His body knew from so soon after meeting Hannibal that this would be right, that he would bond himself to this Alpha, natural and ineffable, yet his mind remained convinced that this depth of love and want would be disturbing.

It isn’t. It never could be.

Hannibal’s cock brushes past his prostate as he moves, and Will draws in a sharper breath. “Ahh, there, that’s perfect.” 

Will doesn’t need prostate stimulation since Hannibal’s bonding established fully in him – his own arousal is biochemically triggered by Hannibal’s, and he comes very close to orgasm from the penetration alone – but it still feels incredibly good to have it.

Hannibal shifts a little behind him before the next stroke, angling slightly more. “Like that?”

“Oh, exactly like that,” Will tells him, and he twines his own fingers through Hannibal’s, both their hands resting on the low rise of his stomach.

It’s a slow build tonight, in this position, Hannibal’s strokes measured and leisurely inside him, his breath warm on Will’s neck as he murmurs soft words along his skin, but it does build. Hannibal’s hand moves lower to take Will’s cock, pacing Will with his own movements and hunger, so when Hannibal comes, Will is right there after him, the two of them settling soft and satisfied against one another as orgasm fades. There’s no knot because Will isn’t in heat, Hannibal’s cock slipping free after only a minute, and Will turns within Hannibal’s arms to look at him, to kiss him, gentle and smiling. 

Sometimes Will thinks his heart might shatter with how much he loves this man, his violent, tender, brutal, devoted Alpha who he’s loved through murder and blood and abandonment, who he’s loved beyond Beverly and Abigail and Molly. Will knows he’ll love him through anything, limitless, and that knowledge is joy, and a stability his storm-swept mind had never thought he’d find.

Hannibal runs a finger down Will’s chest, smiling at him with adoring indulgence. “You made it very difficult to maintain propriety with your antics tonight, Will. There were several occasions when I had to pretend my amusement was caused by the most appalling of jokes.”

“You liked it, so don’t pretend otherwise,” Will says with a twitch of his lips.

“As a gift offered by you to enhance my ego and standing, yes,” Hannibal admits. “It isn’t what I would ever want you to be.” Will knows that and always has, because when Hannibal fell in love, he declared himself to an Alpha, and he always planned to live his life with his equal.

“You love it when I’m submissive in bed,” Will points out.

“I do,” Hannibal concedes after due consideration. “I believe it’s because the behaviour is atypical of you, and I interpret it as an indication of how very much you want me.”

“It is,” Will says with a smile, his fingers trailing at Hannibal’s hip.

He isn’t always submissive during sex – it’s variable, depending on the fluctuations of his hormones and his moods. His heats certainly enhance it, rendering him extremely pliable and consenting, but there are times even outside them when a display of Hannibal’s full sexual dominance makes Will want to openly _beg_ for him. And when those times happen, when he does in the end beg, the sex becomes electric, Will’s orgasm leaving him gasping and wrecked, and flooded with a profound satisfaction that is perhaps even more mental than physical.

Hannibal was right, that night before they bonded, in his choice of words to calm Will and reassure him. The desire to fully submit himself sexually to his mate is innate in him, and when he gives himself over to that without reservation, the effects through him are astonishing. Hannibal knows when he needs it, and how to draw it to the surface, how to steer Will to the place in his head where he can joyfully release himself to it, and Will can only love him more for understanding all the aspects of him.

Hannibal’s mouth curves at the corners, the lines of his face deepen, and the predator creeps behind his eyes. “If only those people watching you this evening knew what you are truly like.”

Will flicks his tongue along his lower lip, draws it back in to graze across his teeth. “They’ll see me, soon enough.” 

After his public display tonight, most people will view Hannibal as the challenge, and assume that if Hannibal is removed or evaded, Will becomes fair game. They will learn differently very quickly; the first few to try will learn it hard and fatally. After that, the would-be claimants will grow more circumspect in their approaches.

Will drags his fingers over Hannibal’s chest, letting his nails dig in enough to tug at the hairs and leave brief red trails. “I wonder which of us will be the first to kill?” An Alpha might move to attack Hannibal outright, or choose to try and approach Will in Hannibal’s absence.

Hannibal’s hand reaches up to curl along the line of Will’s jaw, his eyes darkly intent. “I very much hope to kill alongside you.” 

Will smiles his agreement, raising his own hand to rest over Hannibal’s on his skin. “It’s who we are; we share the joy in everything.” It’s entirely possible that an Alpha vain and stupid enough to try and break their bond will be careless enough to fight Hannibal in Will’s presence, discounting him as a threat.

Hannibal’s gaze is devoted, and utterly sincere. “You are your most free and radiant self when you kill, Will; you have a beauty I had never dared envision, and I would be loath to miss it.”

Will remembers Hannibal on top of a cliff, bloodied and vicious and undeniably magnificent in victory, and so impossibly tender and loving in touching Will, his openly intended mate. That was the moment when he finally and fully knew, when he could no longer deny his future lay with this man, and the sudden certainty of it and the unabashed _desire_ he felt for it were shocking and terrifying.

“I want to see you that way again too.” He wants to see Hannibal violent and ruthless and savage, and this time he’ll return the beauty and the love he beholds, instead of rejecting it.

Hannibal strokes along his skin with the utmost gentleness. “You will, my beloved, I can promise you that,” and Will knows it. They will see each other completely exposed, stripped of society’s wrappings in their innate destructiveness, and they will both delight in it, and in the joyfully committed assertion of their wholehearted truth. Delighting, not tolerating.

It will happen soon, and Will smiles his anticipation and pleasure to his love.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three days later, they kill, and they do it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, if you made it this far, thank you for reading :-) 
> 
> I've always had issues with the A/B/O genre, because of the whole dubious consent angle. If biology is basically demanding that you mate, how much consent can there actually be? What Watermelonsmellinfellon's sigma concept did for me was to make it clear that the initial decision was unquestionably Will's and made entirely in his right mind, because Hannibal was clueless until Will told him. With that first hurdle out of the way, I was then free to explore the trope and the consent questions involved; it made me uncomfortable to write it, and it still made me uncomfortable to edit it, but everybody should push their boundaries now and then, right?
> 
> [I'm on tumblr too.](https://tiggymalvern.tumblr.com/) I rarely bite.


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